Deus Lo Vult
by Papa Smaug
Summary: When a band of soldiers stumbles across a lost Pagan site, they are dragged into the world of Skyrim. This harsh world is offering them a new war. They must choose between the Teutonic Order and their beliefs, or choose what is right and fight for people they despise most. Talan Gwynek must guide them home, or die in the attempt. There are however . . . complications.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Lost Soldiers**

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 **A/N: Any views expressed in this work of fiction are purely that of the characters and do not represent the author's own ideals and morals. Thank you.**

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A red dawn broke over the small valley. Two mountains had formed a basin with a pristine lake in the middle. The only way in and out of the valley was a low mountain pass, one at either end of the valley. The unique fragrance of pine sap flavoured the air, and the thick carpet of needles lying beneath the trees was not an unusual spot for travellers to stop and rest. All around, little mounds and thin rivulets of liquid made it a little hard going, but added to the spectacle and beauty of the place.

But as the sun rose, the grisly remnants of last night were revealed. The mounds became bodies in the twilight; the rivulets became streams of blood, trickling into the reddening waters of the lake. Arrows jutted out of trees, pine sap dripped down sword slashes that had missed their mark and the ground was churned up by the boots of the fighting men.

There were two liveries discernible through the mess of blood and mud.

One was a red silhouette of a horseman on a blue background, the colours of Lithuania. The other was a black Gothic cross on white, the unmistakable badge of the Catholic Church, and the Teutonic Order. Crows had come down to feast on the soft flesh, pecking and hoping between the few wolves that had stolen into the valley, also drawn by the smell of blood.

Around now, a careful listener would have heard the beginnings of hoof beats. Numerous hoof beats. They grew louder and louder, and the wolves, always quick on the uptake, disappeared into the trees, their maws red with blood. the crows took flight. Soon a party of horsemen, wearing the livery of the Teutonic Order, rode into the valley and came to a halt.

"Oh bloody hell." one of them remarked. "There's bugger all left."

One of their number dismounted swiftly. He was dressed differently from the others. While the horsemen wore leather armour and had standard issue swords and shields, this man had the full attire of chain mail, plate arms and plate legs to match. A short white cape was draped over his shoulders, only coming down to the small of his back. His tabard, although it was split down the middle for horse riding, was longer than usual, implying he was more at ease as a foot soldier, than a cavalry man. His helmet was perhaps the most impressive. And fearsome. It was metallic grey, with a matt finish. Two demonic horns curved upwards from the top, solidly riveted in place. There were a few scratches and scrapes on his armour, and a small hole the size of a thumbnail in his tabard that was rimmed with a crusty red-black substance, showing where a past injury had been. A sword hung at his hip and a kite-shield with a black cross in the centre was slung across his back. His name was Talan Gwynek and he was, unmistakably, an elite soldier in the ranks of the Teutonic Order, namely one of the infamous Ritterbruder.

"Alright, get shifted you lot!" he called. "Till, you watch the horses, you bowmen keep an eye on the road. The rest of you are to find our lads and prepare them for transport back to Thron. I need to take a look around." he added, before striding off towards the trees.

"What about the Lithuania's?" the Prussian bowman, and Sergeant, named Till asked.

"Leave them for the wolves." Talan called over his shoulder. He strode into the trees, stepping over bodies of the fallen. He began scouting the edge of the battlefield. By the look of the place, it had been the Lithuania's who had won out.

"Another glorious loss." he muttered to himself. He punched a tree. Damn that blasted Pagan bastard Valadas! The young up-and-coming Lithuanian General was wreaking all sorts of havoc across the river bordering the lands of Lithuania and the Order. He'd been winning skirmishes, not battles, but the skirmishes added up and were a constant source of irritation to the high command, while demoralising the troops in the field.

A slight chill passed over Talan as he began to make his way back to his men. Looking up, he saw the branches of the pine trees had begun waving in the beginnings of a morning breeze. The darkening clouds heralded rain for later. Wonderful! Dragging wagons of corpses back to Thron in the cold mud and rain would definitely improve the mood. Oh wait...

He continued on, estimating the cost of the losses. Eventually, he sighed. There was nothing else here.

He was about to turn and go, when he noticed something on the peripheral of his vision. A dull blue glow throbbed between the trees. Talan drew his sword and stepped cautiously towards the light. He crept closer as quietly as he could and cursed the fact he was in heavy plate and mail. Sneaking and clanking round some rocks, he suddenly emerged in a hidden clearing. There, before him, stood two intricately carved pine columns. But it was what stood in between them that made Talan's jaw drop.

A blue circle, hovering a few inches off the ground, swirled and writhed as the light it threw off convulsed and distorted the air around it. Talan felt chills run up and down his spine just by staring at it. He was ... fascinated by the light. Enthralled even. It was incredible! Talan had no idea what it was, but it hummed with energy and barely contained power.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt drawn to it. He reached out a gauntleted fist. The voice of sanity and reason at the back of his head tried to scream at him to run, but it was overruled by an inviting sensation Talan was feeling from the - the - the whatever it was. It couldn't hurt, could it?

And the world crumbled into blue and black, as Talan disappeared in a flash of light.

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Talan was travelling, faster than he imagined possible. He could make no move, no sound, only watch, his mind uncomprehending of what was going on. The world disappeared from underneath him, and he was speeding amongst the stars as they flashed past in streaks of blue, white and green. Then suddenly, without warning, the world was rising very quickly to meet him. He was screaming towards the ground faster than light and then everything came back into focus. Talan had just enough time to he was precariously high on a sloped mountain, surrounded by pine trees and a light snow, when he pitched forward and tumbled down the slope. He toppled over a small bank and landed with a crash of heavy armour on a road.

He groaned and gingerly sat up, checking himself for injury. Apart from a few minor scrapes and cuts, and his armour getting a little scuffed and dirty from the earth and snow, he was fine. He stood up shakily and surveyed his surroundings. He was no longer in the clearing. The road he had landed on sloped downwards, following a river that churned over a precipice and poured onto a plain. It snaked its way into the distance, where there stood a huge city, unlike any he'd ever seen before. There was a sudden commotion behind him as several men fell down the steep incline. They tumbled onto the road, piling comically on top of each other. Several of them swore. Others just groaned. One of them was Till, the Sergeant in command of the Prussian Bowmen, who was getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Bugger." he grumbled, patting himself down presumably to check for injury. Satisfied, he looked around and his jaw dropped.

"What the-? The buggery-? Where the hell are we?" he stuttered, staring around in awe.

"I've been wondering the same thing." Talan said, turning back to look out over the plain. Behind him, the men were finally standing, looking around in confusion. Talan snapped his fingers to get their attention.

"Alright, listen up." he ordered. The men shuffled into line.

"I'm just as confused as you are. I don't know what happened, but I suspect Pagan magic did this to us. With that being said, our only option is to find out where we are, and maybe get a message back to the castle at Marienburg. Agreed?"

It wasn't really a debate up for discussion but there was a chorus of "Aye's" and a couple of nodding heads.

"Alright. Let's move out." Talan ordered and the men fell into line and followed Talan's lead.

In his head, Talan summed up his forces. About twenty Prussian bowmen, not the best soldiers, being lightly armoured and not particularly well armed, but still better than most you saw these days. Then there were an equal number of Sword Brethren, tough infantry armed with sword, shield and full chain mail. Reliable as basic infantry. Then there was himself, a Ritterbruder, one of the most feared group of knights in the Baltic states. Nicknamed by their Baltic enemies, and even some Baltic allies, as 'Demon knights' or even 'the Faceless Knights', they had more in common with hell, than with the Word of God Almighty they claimed to spread.

The band of soldiers marched down the road, following it as it curved round and down onto the plain. They looked around uneasily. Talan watched as the city drew near on the his right. It didn't look like any City he'd seen in the Baltic states, with thatched rooves and wooden walls and buildings, but it registered in his mind as 'Pagan'. He turned his attention back to the road. They were passing a roadside farm when there was an almighty bellow from the rocky slope and an impossibly huge man came striding down the slope, running right at them.

No, it was not a man, for he was too big. He stood at the height of three men, with huge muscles, like boulders, running down long arms. Even from here, the stench of sweat and old goat was over-powering.

A mythical Giant.

Talan's mind went into automatic.

"Form up! Bows to the back, swords to the front! Brace!"

The stunned men scrambled into position, the Prussians knocking their bows and drawing the strings taught.

The Giant raised his club as he ran.

"Fire!" Talan roared.

There was the twang of twenty bows and a _hiss_ and _zing_ as arrows passed over head. The arrows lodged themselves in the Giants muscles, staggering him for a moment, before he recovered and continued charging again, more enraged than before.

"Swords! Break ranks and flank! Archers, fire at will!"

Talan and the Sword Brethren spread out in a loose semi-circle, as the archers let loose another round of arrows. Suddenly, the Giant was upon them, and Talan found himself diving aside as the Giant swung a huge over-head blow at him.

Talan felt the ground shake as the club impacted with the earth where he had been only a second ago. He rolled over and ducked under the Giants second swing. He drove his sword into the unprotected thigh, before tearing away again, knowing not to push his luck. The Giant gave a deafening bellow of pain and succeeded in clipping Talans back with his club, hurling Talan face-first into the dirt.

He landed with a crash several metres away, winded. The air had been driven out of his lungs by the blow and what little was left had been forced out by the impact. His right shoulder was on fire and he struggled to breath.

"Bastard!" he heard someone, possibly Till roar. There was an answering bellow and a horrible tearing noise, followed by an agonized scream that set Talan's teeth on edge. He forced himself to his feet and a growl rose in his throat. He staggered towards the rampaging giant, before turning that into a stride and then a sprint.

Unnoticed by the gargantuan being, he dashed round the Giants flank and leaped as high as his armour would let him, which wasn't very high, and swung his sword upwards and drove it into the Giant's ribs. The weight of Talans body and armour coupled with the sudden attack made the Giant stagger and fall.

"Get it!" Talan bellowed.

The Sword Brethren charged, closely followed by the bowmen, who had drawn long daggers from their belts.

They hacked and slashed at the fallen Giant who, despite being down, tried to knock the men away. Suddenly, Till appeared out of nowhere and drove his dagger into the Giants eye. There was a bellow and the Giants arm shot out and knocked Till away, throwing him across the road to come down heavily in the grass, where he lay unmoving. Seeing this, Talan roared in anger and drove his sword into the Giants jugular where, with a dying rumble, the Giant lay still. Talan dropped his sword and leaned on his knees, breathing hard. Then, recovering his breath, he looked around at the carnage.

The battle had taken them away from the road. Stray arrows littered the ground, and there was blood covering the grass and rocks. The only casualty, apart form Till was one of the Sword Brethren, who'd had his arm torn off. By the look of it, he'd never hold a weapon again. His fellow soldiers were doing their best to bandage the bleeding, by tearing strips of cloth from their tabards, and console their distressed comrade. Several of the bowmen carried Till back to the group and he was leaning against a rock, still unconscious.

"Sir!" one of the soldiers called, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

Talan turned in the direction the man pointed and saw two men and a woman coming down the road towards them.

"Bugger." Talan muttered. He picked up his sword and sheathed it, before signalling to several of his men to follow. In light of the situation, he placed one hand firmly on the hilt of his sword as he walked. He observed the approaching group as they neared.

The two men looked like mercenaries, with their own custom armour. However, their manner and the way they walked showed they were not your everyday sell-sword, but looked more like they wrote the book of swordsmanship themselves. One carried a huge steel two-handeder while the other had a simple sword and buckler. They were unmistakably twins.

The woman was the most surprising. And infuriating. And, Talan noted to his distaste, really alluring, although that may have had more to do with the fact that she did not wear a dress, but instead wore armour. High boots, leather jerkin and grey-green face-paint. Worse still, she wore no sleeved garment leaving her arms bare, and between the tops of her boots and the armour on her thighs, she wore nothing, showing off her legs. She was improperly dressed for a decent Christian, so she was no doubt a Pagan, as were probably the twins. He strode up to them, glaring.

The woman kept her face expressionless, but Talan could see a certain spark in her eyes. She didn't know what to make of Talan or his soldiers but she was inclining towards the negative side of things.

"Yes?" Talan snapped. "I've got wounded to tend to, so this had better be good."

"Who are you?" the woman asked bluntly, returning Talan's icy manner.

Suddenly, there were a few wolf-whistles from the men watching the group. A look crossed the woman's face that made Talan grip his sword hilt tighter. The look suggested someone was going to be hurt. Seriously.

"Why are your men acting like that?" the woman said. Talan could have sworn the temperature in the air dropped a few degrees.

"Where we come from, you are . . . improperly dressed." he sneered, as if it were her fault. Well, technically, it was. The temperature dropped by a few more degrees.

"I see." the woman said stiffly.

Behind her, the twins tightened their grip on their weapons. Talan's men, seeing this, did the same.

The tensions were rising. They remained like this for several seconds. Duty towards his men made Talan speak first.

"As I said, I've got wounded men to tend to. State your business or leave." Talan said frostily.

There was a slight scrape of weapons. The twins had started to draw their swords.

"Keep talking like that and you won't have any." the one with the two-handed sword rumbled. His deep voice held a promise of future pain.

"Talking like what?" Talan said slowly, keeping the frosty tone.

"Like we are beneath you." the woman growled.

Talan returned her glare.

"You are a woman, so I'd say you are." he snapped.

The blow was sharp and painful. Talan was spun around and fell to one knee. His hand flew to his face and came away with blood on it. The twins started forward, but there were several creaks of bows under tension. The archers were taking aim.

Talan stood up, visibly shaking with anger.

"Sword Brethren." he snarled. It was almost a whisper, but there was a scrape as swords were drawn. The Brethren took a defensive position, forming a shield wall.

A low growl, that could not possibly have been made by anything human, began in the woman's throat. One of the twins stepped forward hurriedly and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Not here!" he hissed, and gestured towards the walls of the City. On the ramparts, people were watching. Among them were guards. They had bows. They'd drawn them. Talan turned his attention back to the trio and noticed that there was a large group of guards coming up the road as well.

"Bugger." he muttered. Louder he called "Sheath your weapons." It was either that or fight a very one-sided battle. Reluctantly, the soldiers lowered their bows and sheathed their blades.

Talan turned back to the woman, glowered at her and got an equally haughty stare back before he turned to address the newcomers.

"Will my men be able to enter the city?" he asked.

"That remains to be seen." said an authoritative voice. Talan saw that amongst the group of guards was a man who wore a golden circlet and fine robes, indicating his status as Lord. He stood and observed Talan's men for a short time. Eventually he spoke.

"Since you have wounded men, it would shame our city if we were to refuse you. I will give you access to my City, but once your men are healed you will leave." The lord's tone made it clear that there would be no arguments.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Talan said coolly, casting a side-ways glance at the red-haired woman. The Lord noticed this.

"And one more thing." he said sharply. Talan turned back to him.

"If you, or your men, cause any trouble, you will bear the . . . consequences." There was considerable emphasis in the Lord's words. With the final threat hanging in the air, the Lord nodded to his men, who turned around and marched away. The trio of mercenaries followed them. The woman turned to look back, gave Talan a scathing look, before something one of her companions said made her turn away.

Talan let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again.

"The audacity of that woman!" he snarled, kicking a random stone lying in the road. The soldiers kept quiet. They knew better than to interrupt Talan when he was in a mood. An awkward moment of silence passed, unnoticed by Talan, before his fists unclenched.

"Carry the injured between yourselves. As much as I hate to do it, we have to go into the city." he said.

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Aela was beside herself. That man! She turned and gave him a look that promised future pain if they ever crossed paths again. He simply stood there, a livid red mark where she had slapped him and a slight trickle of blood on his mouth.

"Ignore him Aela." Vilkas cautioned. She rounded on him and scowled.

"Did you hear the way he spoke!" she snapped. Vilkas nodded gravely.

"I did. But you also heard that he's not from around here. His accent is unusual. I've never seen the symbol on his armour before. And he'd just been flung several metres by a Giant." Aela glowered at her fellow Companion.

"Don't take his side!" she snapped.

"I'm not." he said. "I'm saying we should be careful. I fear one misplaced word or deed and the streets will run with blood, and not necessarily theirs. You need to calm down. Where has the patient huntress gone to?"

Aela bit back her retort. He was right, of course. Those soldiers were definitely not from around here. Still, there was no call for the contempt.

"Fine. As long as they stay out of my way." she growled.

Farkas took a deep breath. The other two looked at him. He was slow in thinking, but that didn't stop him from giving insightful comments.

"This will be interesting." he said.

With that thought in mind, they entered the city of Whiterun.

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 **A/N: An interesting beginning, hopefully. As I said at the beginning, I apologise for any offence this, and most likely future chapters, have brought/will bring. Please leave some constructive criticism or ideas, but it's not necessary.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Rising Tensions**

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 **A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed.**

 **Centralmetric01** **; don't worry; I will not go on hiatus. I have the story planned out and I will try to update regularly, but that's pending studies.**

 **Commissar Carl; Thanks for the support.**

 **To my Guest Reviewer; I didn't include cavalry because it seemed more logical to start off with light combat and a disadvantage, to try make their situation even more difficult. But fear not, your interest in the Ritterbruder have been noted.**

 **To my other Guest Reviewer; DEUS VULT, UT PERCUTIAT GENTES!**

 **And now for the story.**

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 _He watched as the men advanced. The Order's spear men marched forward, acting as a shield wall for the Sword Brethren behind them,_ _t_ _heir large shields held steady. A detachment of spear men were pushing a heavy looking battering ram, the_ _wooden_ _tip heat-treated and harder than steel. The Sword Brethren followed on, approaching cautiously, their swords and shields raised, while behind them, the archers let fly another volley of arrows over the top of the walls that marked the last defence of the City of Novgorod._

 _He sat patiently on his horse, waiting for the call to move forward. He knew that once the gates were breached, the mounted knights that were the Ritterbruder would be unstoppable, as they charged through the City. He smiled like a hungry wolf. The defenders would be terrified. The Ritterbruder had made a name for themselves in the Crusades, and now they were challenging the armies of the Baltic states._

 _He watched as the battering ram, under heavy fire from the defenders, made it to the gates. The wooden beam was slowly drawn back and then swung forward with a dull creak, sending shivers down the spine of each and every defender. He could hear the crash of wood, as the battering ram smashed into the gates. Even from here, the noise was loud._

 _The attackers, who were not manning the ram, pressed themselves_ _up_ _against the walls, staying out of the sights of the archers above. Another wave of arrows from the Order clattered off the walls, sending the defenders scrambling for cover._

 _Beneath him, his horse shifted restlessly. He leaned down and patted him on the neck._

" _Soon." he assured his mount._

 _There was another splintering crash, as the battering ram smashed into th_ _e city_ _gates. From the sudden increased activity from the defenders, they were running to brace the gates. The battering ram drew back again, and then swung forward, smashing into the gates_ _a third time_ _. He_ _fancied_ _he could see a hole had_ _been broken_ _in the sturdy woodwork._

 _One more hit._

 _Suddenly, there was a loud hiss and a gushing sound. A black liquid poured out of two discreet holes carved into the walls. It fell slowly and thickly. Time slowed down, as all the knights watched. Suddenly, the entire area under the gatehouse_ _erupted_ _!_

 _Men ran, screaming, swatting at their flame-covered bodies, trying to get the white-hot pain to stop. They scattered their comrades, causing massed confusion. The ram had begun to burn, as the twisted, charred corpses of the burned men fell, like twisted mannequins of some dark nightmare, and white smoke poured from their mouths._

 _He wrinkled his nose, as the smell of scorched human flesh assailed his nostrils. His horse_ _whinnied and_ _shifted again and pawed the ground nervously, ears flattened to_ _her_ _head, at the smell and sounds. He gave_ _her_ _another reassuring pat on the neck,_ _but knew that the battle had taken a turn for the worse_ _. The burning ram had now become a problem. Although the wooden gates of the City had been burned_ _in the process, the stone walls were still intact and the_ _ram blocked the way, blazing like a funeral pyre._

" _Fall back!"_

 _He turned his head and was surprised to see the Knight Commander had given the order._

 _Back at the walls of Novgorod, the_ _surviving Order soldiers_ _retreated and ran till they were out of range of the_ _Novgorod_ _archers._

 _The Teutonic Order formed up, intending to move back to the cool safety of their camp. Then, suddenly, there was a cry, and one of the Ritterbruder pointed. Marching towards them was another army. They held the banner of Novgorod proudly. Reinforcements!_

" _Form up! Spears in front, archers behind!" the Knight Commander yelled._

 _The men tried to shoulder their way into position, but they were too late. With an almighty_ _war cry_ _, the reinforcements charged and were upon them._

 _He rode forward, hacking at any man standing in his way. Suddenly he felt some one catch his arm and drag him off his horse. He looked up, into the merciless eyes of a Novgorod foot soldier, his face twisted with malice. There was nothing he could do except watch the soldier raise his axe high. It hung in the air for a moment, the sounds of the battle growing dim._

 _Then it plunged, filling his opponent's world._

Talan awoke with a start. He reared up in bed, his arms pushing outwards, flailing at some invisible aggressor, before he realised he'd only been dreaming, and fell back with a soft creak.

"Dreaming again, sir?" said a quiet voice. Talan moved his head and saw Till staring idly up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

"Yes. The Siege of Novgorod." Talan said. Till winced at the recollection and leaned back in his bed.

"Aye, it was a dark day, then." he commented. Talan nodded in agreement.

"But at least we can say we made it out alive."

Till sighed.

"You almost didn't." he said quietly.

 _Suddenly, as the axe hit his chest, a sword burst through the Novgorod soldier's face. Blood sp_ _l_ _attered Talan's face but he didn't care. The axe had struck home. Through his scream of pain, he watched as his aggressor choked and gurgled for a moment before his remains slid off the end of the blade. A bowman, one of the Prussian conscripts, grabbed Talan by the arm and hauled him up, supporting him with one shoulder._

" _Come on!" his saviour roared, before pushing back into_ _the_ _battle._

 _They stumbled and staggered through the melee, the bowman parrying any blows that enemies threw at them._ _All around them men screamed as they were cut down, horses reared, the clash of steel rang in his ears. It was all he_ _could do_ _to_ _hold on._

"You arrived just in time." Talan said, recollecting the painful memory. Till grunted, still staring at the ceiling.

"That I did. Sodding close one, that was. I'm even amazed we got out of the county."

 _They had hidden in a small hollow, lying up by day to avoid the patrols searching for_ _survivors_ _. They moved only at night, where the darkness shielded them,_ _afraid that at any moment they'd be caught_ _. Slowly, they made their way back to the coast, and safety._

Talan shuddered.

Six days. Six slow, agonising days of pure hell. His chest had become inflamed and infected. The only stroke of luck he had in the whole sordid affair was when he got back. An Arabic doctor, who had been taken prisoner during the Crusades, offered his help to Talan, who had gratefully accepted. He had healed Talan up with a herbal bandage, before sewing up the torn skin.

Talan reached hand beneath the sheets and stroked the white scar on his chest; a lasting memento of his first serious injury. The only other life-threatening injury had been an arrow to the side, missing his lung by inches His tabard still bore the mark, and the blood refused to wash out. Talan smiled grimly. The only solace of that injury was that the Order had at least won the battle.

 _After the crippling defeat at Novgorod, the Order had redoubled its efforts, venting its full force on the country of Lithuania._

Something occurred to Talan.

"Till?" he asked.

"Yessir?"

"Why did you join the Order?"

There was an intake of breath from the neighbouring bed as Till thought about this.

"I . . . er," Till began. He paused. "I'd rather not say. It's personal." he finished. Talan sighed and shrugged.

Till was Lithuanian by birth, but had family ties to Poland, or so he claimed. He'd proven his worth after Novgorod, by bringing back one of the wounded Ritterbruder, thought to have been lost in the chaos, namely Talan, and had been promoted to Sergeant for it.

Talan threw back the covers and got out of bed. They'd been assigned beds in the Western Guards Barracks. From the two days he'd been here, Talan had discovered a lot about the City, much to his dismay.

The City was called Whiterun, the Capital of Whiterun hold, which was situated in the Province of Skyrim. He had no idea where that was, but the few people he'd spoken to, mostly guards, had a strong Nordic accent, which made Talan think of Scandinavia. Talan assumed that the blue light he'd encountered in the clearing had transported them from Lithuania to possibly Norway or Sweden.

But the most shocking thing he'd found out about them was their Pagan way of life. Admittedly, it had been what Talan was expecting to find when he entered the City. But he had still found it hard to move around the City, even though he knew that fact, and had instead confined himself only to the so called Plains district, trying to stay away from the Temple. He'd only visited it once to see his recuperating men, before leaving again, feeling like he needed several baths.

God, he _hated_ the City. It was everything that Talan and the Order deemed wrong. Women were allowed to own property. _Women! Owing property!_ And then there had been the shrine. Worship of false idols, and that prattling old fool screaming at the people to worship the Gods, especially the one called Talos. Talan had forced his men to restrain themselves, not wanting to cause undue trouble. They were already under heavy scrutiny by the City guard.

As he thought about this, Talan threw on his armour but he decided to leave his helmet behind this time. The first time he had left the barracks wearing it, people tended to stay away. Not that this was a problem, but they also looked at him in fear and muttered something to themselves or each other when he passed.

Till waited for his commanding officer to finish dressing before getting up and doing the same.

As Talan exited the room and stepped into the main hall of the Barracks. He turned his thoughts to his next move.

He would have to wait until his injured man was fully healed. Much to his anger and spite, as well as his guilt, the 'Priestesses' at the Temple said that the Sword Brother with the missing arm would make a full recovery and regain the use of his arm. Till had been discharged from day one, with nothing but a warning to take it easy for the next two or three days.

So, for now, they were stuck in the City.

Talan walked into the mess hall, where the guards who were off duty were breakfasting. Talan noted that the guards had, once again, maintained distance from the Teutonic soldiers, and were watching them unobtrusively.

He sighed and dropped down onto a bench next to his men and helped himself to some of the thick porridge the guards had cooked up. Till joined him shortly after. Talan barely registered the main doors of the barracks opening and closing, until someone coughed. Talan looked up.

A guard stood before him.

"Message for you, _sir_." The guard pronounced "Sir" the same way he pronounced "Scum"; full of venom. Talan ignored this.

"Hand it over." he said, holding out a gauntlet. The guard grinned.

"Can't, _sir_." he said impudently. There was a mounting silence as everyone began to watch Talan and the guard.

"Its . . . oral." The guard said, stressing the final word.

There was a laugh from the other guards in the room at the poor innuendo. Talan's men however were looking up, and watching Talan carefully, waiting to see if he'd rise. Talan sighed.

So that was how it was going to be played. He was not in the mood for this, he really wasn't.

"Look, either tell me the sodding message, or piss off." Talan snapped.

The guard's grin widened at the reaction. Talan knew his patience would snap. Abruptly, Talan stood up, causing the guard to take a step back. A few of the nearby guards sprung out of their seats, taking a step forward. This caused the Teutonic soldiers to do the same. Hands flew to sword hilts.

"I'm warning you, this one time, friend. Don't. Piss. About. Say your peice, or get out. But if you start a fight, I wonder whose side the Jarl will take?"

Talan's voice had become a quiet hiss. He knew it was a gamble. He was almost certain that the Jarl would believe his men over Talan's own.

"Well?" Talan growled. The guard seemed to realise now would be a bad time to mess about.

"The Jarl wants to see you in Dragonsreach." he said sullenly.

Talan smiled companionably to the guard. "See," he said condescendingly, as if he was talking to a three year old. "That wasn't so hard."

He returned to his seat without another word. The guard muttered something and stalked off. For a moment the room was silent, but then the men began to take their seats again, casting each other dirty looks, before the usual noise level of the barracks slowly returned.

"Bloody hell. I thought you'd knock him out for sure." Till muttered quietly to Talan as he re-took his seat. Talan said nothing. He stared at the half-eaten porridge in front of him. Till noticed the glazed look and changed the subject.

"Shall I accompany you to the Keep, sir?"

Talan nodded slowly, still staring at the bowl. "Might as well. The day can't get any worse." he said.

Talan waited till the bowman had finished his bowl and then stamped out the barracks. Their way up to the Keep, called Dragonsreach, was uneventful, but Till noticed that one or two guards were following them at a not-entirely-obvious distance. They looked like they were patrolling, but they never took their eyes off of Talan. Talan elected to ignore them. At the doors to the keep, they were blocked by two bored looking guards. One of them stepped forwards.

"State your business." he said casually.

"We're here to see the Jarl. We're expected." The guard raised an eyebrow.

"Papers?" he asked.

"What?" Talan asked, frowning. The guard grinned.

"No papers, no entry. It's the rules." he said simply.

"Oh for the love of-" Till began, but Talan trod on his foot, urging him to be silent. Talan turned back to the guard and scowled at him. The guard grinned even more.

"Can't let you in without a chitty saying I can. It's regulations." he said. _Oh yes, there are "regulations" aren't there_ Talan thought. Out loud he said, "We're expected. Unless you want to explain this to the Jarl, open the gates."

The guard seemed to think about this. Talan could just see his mental process. Denying an outright order from the Jarl was technically treason. But it wouldn't hurt if he had some fun with the foreigners, would it?

"Alright then." the guard said conversationally, winking to his friend who straightened up. "We'll pat you down, check for hidden weapons, and so on. Then you'll hand over your swords, and for services rendered, we'll let you in."

"Taking bribes? I didn't know that was part of the regulations." said a voice behind them. Talan turned round and took an involuntary step back.

A woman stood before him, but she was unlike anything Talan had seen. She was dressed in battle armour, which was the only normal thing about her. Her skin was a grey blue and her eyes were almost the same auburn colour as her hair. Talan stared at her, as she stepped towards the guards.

"Open the doors, now. Or the Jarl will hear about this." she snapped. The two guards were looking down at their boots, not daring to meet the strange woman's eyes.

"Yes Housecarl." they muttered and almost fell over themselves to open the door. The woman turned to look at the two Teutons, who were still gawking at her.

"What?" she snapped.

She noticed Talan's hand on his sword, and his pale face.

"Never seen a Dark elf before?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in bemusement. Talan finally closed his mouth.

"N-no." he muttered.

He looked left at Till, who was about to make the sign of the cross over his chest. Talan kicked him in the shin and jerked his head at the open doors. Till nodded palely.

The woman gave an unlady-like snort of amusement and stalked off into the hall. "Come on. The Jarl will see you now." she called over her shoulder.

Jarl Baalgruf the Greater leaned back in his throne, took a sip of wine from the goblet in his right hand and scanned the letter in his left. Eventually he sighed.

"Tullius won't let up." he said to Avenicci. "He believes that Jarl Ulfric will eventually attack Whiterun."

Avenicci cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should-" he began, but Baalgruf cut him off.

"No."

Avenicci opened his mouth when Irileth appeared at the far end of the hall, leading two men. Baalgruf sighed.

"We'll discuss this later. In the meantime, we have more pressing matters to attend to."  
"The civil war _is_ a pressing matter." Avenicci insisted, but Baalgruf ignored him as Irileth strode up and bowed.

"The two soldiers to see you, my lord." she said stiffly.

"Thank you Irileth."

The Dark elf straightened up and took her place at one side of the Jarl. Baalgruf turned his attention to the two men before him.

The more leader-like one watched the Jarl with trepidation. Baalgruf got the impression that he was in the presence of a very angry man. The other was more plainly dressed; simple leather armour, basic sword. He watched the Jarl, but every now and again, his eyes would flick to his leader. His stance indicated that he was poised to move very quickly, either out the door, or into a fight.

"So, we meet again." Baalgruf said. The two men stayed silent.

"I assume your men are well looked after?" he enquired.

"Yes." the leader said shortly.

Beside him, Irileth narrowed her eyes. Baalgruf drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne.

"I would like to know who I am speaking to." he said eventually. The two men shared a glance, before the leader shrugged and stepped forward.

"Talan Gwynek, Captain in the Teutonic Order and member of the Ritterbruder." He said.

He gestured over his shoulder.

"This is Till Aras, my second in command and Sergeant in the Prussian forces."

Baalgruf raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar names and factions, but made no comment.

"Might I ask what you were doing here in Skyrim?" he asked.

"No idea." Talan answered honestly. The Jarl misunderstood this as an excuse to cheek him. His brow furrowed.

"I see." he said slowly. "Well, what do you plan to do when you leave?"

"We'll go home." Talan said guardedly. Baalgruf's frown deepened.

"This would work far better if you co-operated."

"I'm sure it would be." Talan answered, still keeping his words short and clipped.

Irileth's narrowed eyes became even narrower, if that was even possible. She glared at the two men. Baalgruf sighed in exasperation, something he didn't do often.

"It seems everywhere you go, tensions rise. I hear one of your men had to be restrained at the Shrine to Talos. Then there were no less than five, _five_ I say, clashes with the guards over trivial matters. And to cap it off, you were not very . . . courteous when you entered my city,". The Jarl paused and leaned forward. "I would have hoped you and your men would have acted more civil now that you are my guests. You do know I am held accountable by your actions just as much as you are? And you are not making my rule easy."

Talan remained silent. The Jarl shook his head.

"We might come to a better understanding if you were to co-operate." he repeated. Talan finally spoke.

"May I speak my mind?" he said carefully. The Jarl shrugged.

"I doubt I could stop you." he said. Talan ignored this and pressed on.

"When we came to this City, a lot of what we saw shocked us, my men, and myself. Your ways are… " Talan paused.

"Go on." the Jarl said, watching the him carefully.

"Abominable." Talan finished. The Jarl, much to Talan's amazement, chuckled.

"I am sorry my city has not been as pleasing as you would have hoped." he laughed.

"I didn't expect much to begin with." Talan admitted. The Jarl smiled.

"Do tell?" he said.

Talan felt like he was being played with. The Jarl was guiding him towards the answers he wanted. Talan only went on talking because bottling up his anger would be far worse. And the man was strangely likeable.

"We – that is the Teutonic Order – are at war with the Pagan nations of Lithuania and the Republic of Novgorod."

Talan knew he was stepping onto dangerous ground, but he couldn't care less. Beside him, Till watched him carefully

"Is your Order religious?" the Jarl asked. Talan gave a brief nod. The Jarl leaned back and smiled a knowing smile.

"Alas, religious differences will keep us separated." he said sagely. Talan shrugged.

"Well, to change the topic, how did you get here?"

He noted Talan's frown.

"It's obvious by your accent that you are from somewhere else. The names and places you have told me about are strange, unfamiliar even, to me. And your sigil is one I have never seen before." he continued. Talan opened his mouth to speak, but paused hesitantly.

"We – we don't know." he finished.

"Come now. You must -"

"We don't know." Talan said firmly. "At least, we don't know if you will believe us."

"Oh?"

What could he tell the Jarl? Oh, what the hell…

"I was tasked to lead some reinforcements to a hidden location. When we got there, they'd been slaughtered. I was investigating the extent of the damage when I noticed something – something blue glowing in the trees. I went to investigate and found… I don't even know what I found. But I suspect it was the work of sorcery.". The Jarl raised and eyebrow.

"Sorcery, you say? Hold a moment.". The Jarl turned to Irileth, who so far had stayed silent, listening to Talan. "Fetch Farengar. He needs to hear this."

As Irileth nodded and disappeared through a side door in the hall, the Jarl turned back to the two men.

"If you encountered a work of magic, Farengar might be able to help you. He had extensive knowledge in the arcane arts."

At this, Talan and Till both narrowed their eyes.

"What do you mean?" Talan said cautiously.

"He is my court magician."

In one movement, both men took several steps back and drew their swords. The guards stationed around the room ran towards them. At that exact moment the side door creaked open and Irileth stepped in, accompanied by a robed man. As soon as she saw the two men with drawn swords and the running guards she leapt forward, her sword appearing in her hand as if by magic. She stood protectively in front of the Jarl and glared at her opponents.

"Sheath your swords NOW!" she yelled.

The Teutonic soldiers stood back-to-back. They were surrounded by grim looking guards. The Jarl looked furious.

"Sheath your weapons!" Irileth yelled again.

The robed man standing in the doorway watched the scene with mild interest, as if the Teutons were an interesting specimen of creature. Talan guessed that this was Farengar.

He looked around. They were heavily outnumbered.

"Bugger. We're up to our arses in this one." he swore, and dropped his sword. Till gave his commander a hesitant look before following suit. The guards closed in around them and bound their arms tightly behind their backs.

"Move!" the guard captain snarled.

They were pushed outside and took a path that ran down one side of the Keep, until they reached a heavy iron-bound door. Talan did not doubt for a second that this was the dungeons.

* * *

 **A/N: Just the usual plea for reviews, etc. Don't mind me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: A New Chance**

 **A/N: More reviews? My last fanfiction wasn't this successful. I only had four reviews, and I still have to write chapter 9 for that fanfiction! But I'm happy about the sparking interest though. Anyway, couple of things I'd like to say.**

 **First of all, sorry for not posting for a few weeks, but Uni had me occupied. But for now, I am free.**

 **Irnerius: Agreed, the guards constantly harassing Talan might have been a bit over the top. But then again, he did draw steel in front of their gates and they had to threaten him with violence and superior numbers to get him to back off. Also, I'd like to try and keep a tense atmosphere between the Teutonic Orderlies and the people of Whiterun.**

 **And the difference between Pagan monks and Skyrim Sorcerers? Alright, there might be similarities, but remember Talan is a strict Catholic. Witchcraft, magic, whatever you want to call it, is a BIG no-no in his book. The temple of Kynareth's use of magic was unknown to him, as he refused to stay there long enough, and there are healers at the temple so he probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. Since he's been in the Crusades, I'd say he's gotten used to the unusual practices of the Arab doctors, which were vastly different to that of European doctors. For a start, they worked.**

 **I checked up on a map of Whiterun from the Wiki website. Just inside the main gates of Whiterun, across from Warmaidens, there is a guards barracks and there's another one across the City, behind the Bannered Mare.**

 **Cheers for the review.**

 **ww1990ww: True, there is no real magic on Earth. But Talan and his men have crossed over into Nirn, so the rules of magic now apply to them. However, if a mage from Skyrim were to cross into Earth, he would find himself powerless. But thanks for pointing that out.**

 **Zanondalf1992** **,** **Lord Mortem** **and** **antock:** **Glad to hear it.**

 **john: Funny you should mention that . . .**

* * *

Talan paced the little stone cell. It was empty, designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Reflecting on the events preceding his arrest, it had been foolish to draw his sword in the presence of the Jarl. But what else could he have done? Magic was forbidden by law, and the Order made a point of utterly destroying those who dabbled in the black arts. Talan recalled the time when he and a unit of knights had to investigate the disappearance of an old priest, sent to Marienburg by none other than the Pope himself. They had found his twisted, blackened body on the floor of an attic, surrounded by a chalk circle and red candles. Shortly after they had arrested and executed a woman who claimed she had murdered the old priest, and had communed with spirits to harm members of the Teutonic Order. As she had stood, burning on the pyre, she had screamed that the Order was damned to be destroyed by one of their own. After that, there was a heavy shake-down, which Talan had been entrusted to lead, turning up over two-hundred men and forty-three women, all of whom were executed without trial or mercy.

Talan kicked the wall and cursed when he stubbed his toe.

As he waited for the stinging pain to die down he looked up through the grate set high in the wall. Through it streamed the afternoon sunlight, a tantalizing hope of freedom. The rays of sunlight were a golden-orange, signalling that it was late afternoon. Talan had no idea where Till was, or what had become of his men. Angrily, he aimed another kick at the wall, swearing again when he felt something in his ankle go _click_.

He paced the room again, limping slightly, lost in thought. Escape was near impossible and he had neither the skills, nor the equipment to do so anyway. The heavy armour which he had been allowed to keep, oddly enough, would only weigh him down and would clank or, in the case of the chain mail, rattle as he moved. It wasn't built for stealth. Outside the sun was sinking lower and lower. The golden-orange colour faded into d dirty grey, turning into blue twilight, where everything looked like a shadow. Outside his cell, a torch had been lit, but it only cast deeper shadows in through the grate and robbed Talan of his night-eyes.

He'd been pacing all the while, muttering under his breath about strange lands, pagans and magic. It was insane. This couldn't be right, could it? Was this just a very strange dream? Was he at any moment going to wake up and find himself in his quarters at Marienburg? Or worse, was he hallucinating? A fever dream? So much could explain this.

Eventually, out of pure boredom and exasperation, he leaned his back against the wall and sank down to the floor, resting his chin on his knees. Moodily, he stared out the grate, up into the night sky. His jaw dropped. Not one, but two moons occupied the sky. Talan couldn't believe what he was seeing. Immediately his mind turned to the possibility of magic.

Slowly, he got to his feet and gingerly stepped closer to the grate. He looked up through the bars at the two moons. He pinched himself hard. No. Only a slight pain. This wasn't a dream or a hallucination. It was real.

Finally, Talan's mind gave up. The events of today, the constant pacing and the worrying discovery, was simply too much for him and he stopped caring. He leaned back against the wall and slipped to the floor, quickly falling into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Suddenly, Talan seemed to wake. The first thing that struck him was the silence. The world around him was never truly silent. In his cell there had been the slight rustle grass, the distant muttering of the marketplace, the faint clatter of the guards as they did their rounds and many other small but unnoticeable sounds. Until they were gone …

He was lying on his stomach, his immediate view filled with grey. He pushed himself up with both hands. It was a grey floor but it was unlike anything he had seen. It was matt, but it shone, it was light and glowing, but dark and receding. His brain couldn't seem to make up its mind what it was seeing. He groaned. This was the last thing he needed: more strangeness. Gently, Talan removed a gauntlet and stroked the surface. It was unlike anything he had ever touched. Smoother than glass and soft as skin, yet there was a hard quality to it, like diamond.

Talan slowly got to his feet and looked around. His surroundings were black. A deep black, so thick, he felt like it was pressing in around him, like a wall. The grey floor stretched away for only a few metres either way, before fading into the darkness. Something felt wrong. Worse than his surroundings was the feeling in his gut. It was – strange. He made the mistake of looking up.

After a quiet moment lying back on the floor, with his face pressed firmly into the ground, he stood again.

 _Ooookay, don't look up, do_ _ **not**_ _look up,_ he thought. What he'd seen hadn't terrified him. He'd just felt so disorientated that his vision had temporarily stopped and he'd fallen. Talan was pretty well educated and he got the impression that he hadn't been built to process what he'd seen. The best way he could describe it was like looking at a kaleidoscope of black and grey in the fourth dimension. He looked around again.

"Hello?" he called. The sound was cut off immediately. It vanished, as if Talan had never uttered a word, and the silence rolled back.

"Greetings Talan Gwynek."

The voice was soft and musical, like a woman's. It came from behind him. Talan whirled round. No one was there.

"Who's there?" he called, bunching his fists. There was a high, musical laugh from behind Talan. He turned. Still nothing.

"Show yourself!"

The voice chuckled in a sultry way that clanged off Talan's libido. All the anger poured out of him. No, that wasn't like him. He was being manipulated. The feeling passed and the anger returned.

"Such fear and anger." the feminine voice remarked, impressed. "But there is strength and courage too."

Talan's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but he cursed when he found it missing.

"You are passionate and emotional yet so reserved and careful. Yes, Talan Gwynek, you will be perfect for the task I have in mind." The voice seemed to be coming from all directions now.

"Show yourself!" Talan shouted, bunching his fists and dropping into a defensive position. There was another laugh, enthralling and beautiful.

"Very well. Let me show you." said the voice, this time definitely behind him. Talan whirled round just as she touched his forehead.

There was a soundless explosion, a white-out fading to black. Visions embedded themselves in Talan's mind, burning trails across his thoughts. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Talan's vision came back. The floor was grey. Not the strange floor in the dream, but rough stone, familiar and comforting. Talan slowly looked up.

He was back in his cell. Moonlight streamed through the bars in the grill set high in the wall. Talan blinked. _Had it been a dream? What had just happened?_ Then he remembered her last words.

 _Let me show you_.

Then it hit him like a stone block: knowledge. Knowledge of the Gods, who they were, what they did, the lives they had changed. The visions flashed and danced before his eyes. Talan stared.

"No." he whispered, trying to close his eyes, but to his mounting fear, he couldn't. This wasn't real. It was untrue. The visions became stronger.

"No!" he said, his voice becoming panicked. Still they continued, showing him how they had come to be, everything known about them.

"NO!" he roared. Talan stood up, swiping at the images, even though they were in his head, trying to get them to vanish but he stumbled and fell. He craked his head on the stone wall. Pain burst in his skull, as white-spots danced in front of his eyes. Dimly, he heard running boots, but drifted back into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, thankful that the visions had passed.

"Now do you see?" said a feminine voice.

Talan recognised it. He opened his eyes and lashed out, but his fist connected with nothing. Talan scrambled to his feet and glared at the woman in fury and hate. It didn't help that she was extremely beautiful. Gorgeous even. Porcelain white skin and pale white eyes, clouded but glowing with power. Straight black hair fell about her shoulders, complimenting her slender form perfectly. Her robe was blue, white and grey. But part of Talan, the quiet part that watched the world and put the pieces together raised a silent flag of alarm. There was something not right about her. She was _too_ perfect. Talan felt he was seeing what she wanted him to see.

"What did you do to me, witch!" he snarled. The woman smiled kindly, ignoring the insult.

"I gave you knowledge, Talan Gwynek." she said quietly. "The knowledge of this world."

Talan took several steps back.

"What do you mean." he growled. The woman laughed and took several steps forward.

"You mean you didn't realise? Think, Talan Gwynek, what do you know? What has changed?"

Talan, despite himself, stopped to think.

"Do you mean-,". Then Talan gasped.

"Yes." said the woman and took another few steps towards him. Instinctively Talan took also took several steps back.

"But-but it can't be! It's not possible! God-"

At that the woman smiled.

"No. _Gods_." she corrected. Talan stood still, trembling.

"Lies and deceit!" he yelled desperately. "You can't sway me!"

The woman smiled sadly.

"Such a shame. Then we will have to do this the hard way."

Before Talan could stop her, she had closed the distance between them and placed a cool hand on his forehead again and, once again, there was a soundless white-out. Talan watched again, as the images burned through his mind, but this time it was different. It hurt for a start. But then, suddenly, it was over.

Talan was on his knees this time, shivering and feeling nauseous He felt soft, cool hands grab his own and lift him to his feet. The woman looked into his eyes sadly.

"You must understand, Talan Gwynek. This world is not your own."

"Not . . . my . . . own?" Talan repeated.

"Calm yourself." The woman said, taking to him like a child. "Think rationally for a moment. Now, what happened in the clearing?" she asked. Talan blinked slowly.

"Magic. I felt like I was flying and then-"

"You passed through the gateway. You and your men. The gateway to this world."

"The gateway." Talan repeated slowly.

The woman smiled kindly at him and then sighed. It was a beautiful sound.

"I see this will take longer than I thought." she mused. Tenderly, she placed a hand on his forehead. "I will leave you to think over what you now know. Do not disappoint me." she said and there was another soundless white-out as Talan's consciousness faded.

* * *

Talan woke up in his cell. He couldn't tell how long he'd been out cold. Talan sat leaning against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees and his eyes closed.

 _How could_ _this_ _be? Was everything a lie? Everything he had known? And was this really a different world? But how? Why?_ _What was he doing here?_

It wasn't warm in the cell, but it wasn't cold either. Despite this Talan was shaking. Outside his cell, two guards talked in hushed whispers. From what Talan could overhear, they had heard Talan cry out and had come running in time to see Talan fall. They kept casting furtive glances at him, as if he was something strange and mad. He probably was.

Talan stayed where he was. Eventually the deep blue of night became a lighter twilight and then it was dawn. Talan sighed. _What was real? What wasn't?_

He was disturbed from his thoughts by the clatter of armour and the rattle of keys in a lock. He glanced up quickly.

"Get up. The Jarl wants a word, Outlander." Irileth growled.

* * *

Talan was pushed through the doors of Dragonsreach. To his surprise, most of his men were gathered in room, but there were almost twice as many Whiterun guards to accompany them. Talan was pushed to the front of his men, but was still surrounded by guards.

The Jarl was on his throne, talking intently with a man in rough iron armour. Talan automatically labelled him as "mercenary". He held a horned helmet under one arm and a sword was strapped to his hip. The Jarl's expression was one of worried anger. He looked up as Talan arrived. He turned and said something quietly to the mercenary, the final word in the conversation, before leaning forward to address Talan.

"So, we meet again." he said curtly, as if he hadn't summoned Talan to be brought before him. "The circumstances are regrettable. However, I do not appreciate you drawing steel in my presence, especially in my own home!"

The Jarl's voice turned from curt irritation to an angry growl. Talan stayed silent. The Jarl leaned back.

"However, I believe you can redeem yourself." he said.

Talan watched the Jarl carefully. Redeem himself? This would be interesting to say the least.

"I have recieved troubling news. The fortress-town of Helgen was attacked and burned to the ground by –" the Jarl hesitated.

"By a dragon." said a voice. The young mercenary had stepped forward and was now talking. "And I should know, I was there." he said.

Behind him, Talan's men started muttering.

"But dragons don't exist!" burst out Till. "They are mythological creatures! They never existed!"

The mercenary nodded at this, as if he agreed with the Sergeant.

"I thought so to, until one landed on my head." he said. He turned towards the Jarl. "Apologies for the interruption, my lord."

"No matter. You were there, your account would be better than mine." the Jarl said before turning back to Talan and his men. "The Dragon was last seen flying over Bleak-falls Barrow towards Whiterun. Earlier today, I received word that a Dragon has been sighted near the Western Watchtower. And if a Dragon is that close to the city, we must act."

"And where do we come into this?" Talan asked guardedly.

"You are soldiers and expendable." The Jarl said, leaning forward again. "However, if you succeed in killing the Dragon, you will be pardoned."

There was silence. Talan sighed. He felt as if his grasp on reality was slipping away. He might as well let go entirely.

"I'll talk it over with my men." Talan said and turned towards them. And now he was flying

"Alright. So we either rot in chains or fight a bloody mythical creature, which no one has seen for centuries, if at all." Till said. Talan nodded.

"That about covers it." he muttered.

"And if it's a trap?" another soldier put forward.

"We're dead men either way." Talan countered. He sighed. "Listen, we're far from home in God knows where. I have no idea what to do or think, so … let's just do what the Jarl says and get our freedom. We can move on from there."

There were a few nods, but there were still some who looked unconvinced.

"Look, supposing the dragon is real, we fight and die, or we fight and win. Equally, if we are locked up, we'll die guaranteed, Dragon or no Dragon."

There were a few murmurs of agreement and several more nods. Satisfied with the general consensus, Talan turned back from the Jarl, who was watching them carefully.

"We'll do it." he said.

* * *

Later that afternoon, their swords and bows were passed back to them, as were any confiscated pieces of armour. Grimly, Talan put on his helmet. He had no idea what he was doing, he had no idea where he was going, only that he had to kill a mythical creature that he was certain could not exist.

They filed out the armoury and headed for their rendezvous near the gate, accompanied by Whiterun guards. People watched them apprehensively as they passed.

They reached the gate, where Irileth and more guards were waiting for them. With them stood the young mercenary, who was now wearing his helmet.

"We have to move fast. The Dragon might make a move on the city at any moment." Irileth snapped.

She turned and began to jog up the road, the Whiterun guards following her.

"A moment sir?" Till said. "The men would like a word."

Talan shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the men.

"Alright. As I said back in the Keep, we have no idea where we are. We have no idea what we're doing or even if we will live to see another day. I, like you, am lost, stumbling in the dark. But there is one thing I do know. Where ever we go, whatever we see, whatever we do, God's hand will guide us!"

The words sounded unconvincing in his ears and hollow to the point, but still Talan pressed on.

"Should we die today, we go to Heaven, knowing that our duty is done. Should we live on to see another day, then we will go home, back to our families, be they wife and child or mother and father. Ordo domus Sanctae Mariae de Germanis Hierusalem!" he bellowed.

"For the Order!" the men cheered and they stormed out of the gates of Whiterun, following Irileth and her men.

* * *

 **A/N: A bit shorter than usual, but I don't want to make the story too fast paced. Does this chapter feel a little clumsy? I think it does, but leave a review with your opinion on chapter 3, and I'll go in for a re-write. Thanks.**

 **[EDITED: 31/12/2016]**

 **Hopefully the small changes I made improved this a little. Let me know if it is still a little awkward. Cheers and happy new year from Britain.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Dragon**

* * *

 **A/N: Just answering a review. Carry on, if you are disinterested.**

 **Accursius:** **I see what you mean, but there are two things I disagree with.**

 **I disagree that** **Baalgruf guessed that they are from outside** **Nirn** **. Baalgruf probably kn** **ew** **of at least some of the different worlds that are connected to Tamriel, but, as far as I am aware, none of them have any creature that** **exactly** **resemble** **human** **s.  
**

 **The other point I disagree on is** **the Godly Supernatural thing.** **I was actually considering** **that Talan might believe that the Abrahamic God is sort of like the God-Supreme with lesser Pagan Gods as his followers,** **which I am now most-likely going to write in.** **But I won't change the situation** **itself** **in the Godly/Supernatural** **dream** **because it** **opens up** **a plot point I will revisit later on** **, and I was imagining this as a central point to the whole story.  
**

 **H** **owever, I do agree that Farengar could probably have gone down and have a talk with Talan vis-a-vis the whole Magic situation, and possibly Irileth could tag along saying that Talan is** **dangerous for drawing his sword in the Hall.**

 **C** **heers for sharing your thoughts,** **because it helped a lot with the development of the plot line** **and gave me a few more ideas to drop in the story.**

* * *

They covered ground quickly, the road surrounding countryside moving past at a quick pace. Talan was in the lead, closely followed by the Sword Brethren. Till and his archers brought up the rear. Tough training and several years of borderland skirmishing along the Neman river with the Duchy of Lithuania had led the Teutonic soldiers to be tough and light on their feet. Talan watched half-amused as the Whiterun guards tried to keep pace with them, but were evidently struggling. Even Irileth and the young mercenary were finding it hard going, though not as much as the guards.

Beneath his helmet, Talan grinned. The world may have gone mad, but the Order would always maintain it's undefeatable reputation.

As they crested a small rise, the Western Watch tower came into view. Here the ground was scorched. The scent of burned human flesh was rank in the air and even now, bushes and the grassy shrubland burned. The tower itself had been heavily hit. Pieces of masonry had been smashed off the tower, littering the ground with rubble. Talan noticed a human arm sticking out from under a particularly large pile of rubble and guessed an unfortunate guard had been crushed to death. Till muttered his favourite catchphrase.

"Bloody hell."

Irileth looked around.

"Where's the Dragon?" she growled, holding her sword ready.

They were signalled by a guard standing just in the door of the tower.

"Get over here, quick." he yelled. "The Dragon will be back!". The group, as one, looked around and hastily moved into the lee of the tower to make themselves less of a target.

A distant roar echoed over the nearby mountains.

"Oh Gods, here it comes again!" the soldier moaned, before disappearing from view.

Talan looked up.

The Dragon sped towards them on silent wings. It looked beautiful, in a deadly way, with its equine head and piercing eyes.

"Sir!"

Talan blinked.

"Everyone, loose formation! Archers, find cover! Till, take some men to the top of the tower! Force it to land by any means necessary!"

"Aye, sir!" Till growled in anticipation and nodded to a group of bowmen, who followed him into the tower. Talan turned towards the remaining swordsmen.

"Sword Brethren, spread out! Attack if that Dragon lands! But do not, I repeat, _do not_ leave the cover of the tower!"

With that, Talan drew his sword and turned to see Irileth's men move into place on her orders. The young mercenary stood on a nearby rock, and calmly knocked his bow, taking careful aim. Talan suspected he wouldn't take orders from anyone.

He turned again and held his shield in front of him, dropping into a defensive crouch. The Dragon was fast approaching. The Sword Brethren followed Talan's example and copied his defensive stance. On the tower, Till and his men let fly a volley of arrows.

Then the Dragon was upon them.

Fire poured over the ground, forcing the Order back. Talan reeled away from the flames as they seared across his vision. even in cold, thick metal, the heat was incredible! The Dragon halted just above Talan and drew it's head, back opening it's mouth wide. Talan could only watch as an orange glow built in the back of its throat.

Out of nowhere, an arrow seemed to sprout in it's mouth, causing the dragon to screech in rage and shake it's head wildly, trying to dislodge the arrow. It turned it's gaze to the archers on the tower, who wisely dived down the steps into the tower just in time as the Dragon shot a gout of flame at them. Having driven the archers away, and the top of the tower burning even though it was made of stone, the Dragon turned it's attention to the men beneath the tower. It dropped with incredible speed and precision, it's jaws clamping down on one of the Sword Brethren before he could move. His scream was muffled and the Dragon wrenched it's head violently, tearing the man's body in half.

"Jesus Christ!" Talan yelled, shocked and outrage by the sudden attack. He waved his sword in the classic attack motion.

"Let's get it, lads!" Talan roared and, as one, the Sword brethren and knight leaped forward, hell bent on revenge, Irileth's men close behind.

A small volley of arrows clattered off the Dragon's scales. Glancing up, Talan saw that the archers had boldly re-taken their position on the tower and were firing down on the Dragon.

"Aim for the wings! Do not let it get airborne!" Talan heard till yell.

The Dragon roared in fury and lashed out at the approaching soldiers. Realising it was going to be trapped, the Dragon spread it's wings and the archers, waiting for this moment, fired another volley. The Dragon srceamed in rage and pain as it's wings were shredded, but it wasn't finished. It's tail whipped round, throwing Talan and his men backwards. The Whiterun Guards ducked under the arc of its tail and closed in, raining blows at the Dragon's tough hide. Seeing this, Talan's men, winded though they were, scrambled to their feet and charged the Dragon again.

The Dragon, cornered, let loose a screech of rage, and lashed out again with deadly speed, whipping it's head round and closing it's jaws around one of the Sword Brethren, before tossing him away screaming, trailing blood, to smash into the tower and fall with a sickening thud.

Talan roared in anger at this, and leapt forward, straight at the Dragons head, and began raining blows as fast and hard as he could.

The Dragons head jerked sideways and it staggered ungainly away from him, only to be attacked from the other side by Irileth and the Guards. With a bellow, the Dragon swept its tail round, bowling them all over, before bringing its head round in an arc and smashing Talan in the chest so hard, that he felt several ribs crack. Talan was thrown backwards, his sword flying up and out of his grip. The Sword Brethren backed up quick, just as Till and the other archers appeared at the bottom of the tower, swords drawn.

The Dragon loomed suddenly over Talan, and he could just hear Till shouting. The rows of teeth were inches from his face. He could sense the sharp, nauseating smell of blood.

 _So this is how it ends . . ._

The fangs closed in.

 _The hell with that!  
_

With a sudden surge of strength, Talan jammed his shield, which was still strapped to his arm, in the Dragons mouth. It blanched.

"I'm not going down to a bloody flying alligator!" Talan screamed with mad rage, and drove his gauntleted fist straight into the Dragons right eye.

It screamed, hot droplets of blood spattering on the ground as the jagged knuckles of the gauntlets met soft eyeball. It reared up, dragging Talan with it. It shook its head violently, throwing Talan from side to side, but he clung on desperately, his ribs screaming in white-hot pain. The dragon brought its head down and smashed Talan into the ground, breaking Talan's legs and causing him to wrench his shield free and break off several of the Dragons teeth. Cheering at the mad bravery, Talan's men and the Guards closed in, as the Dragon screamed in pain from losing its fangs. Its remaining eye focused on Talan. It shot forward, its maw gaping open, intent on swallowing him whole. A lone arrow suddenly protruded from its mouth, punching through the soft tissue at the roof and burying its way into the Dragons skull.

With a forlorn scream, that deafened everyone nearby, and was heard as far away as Dragonsreach, the Dragon reared up again, thrashing its head from side to side, before it keeled over, its head smashing into the ground right next to Talan. Its eyes became still and unmoving, which was somehow worse than when it was alive.

Talan, shakily, turned his head. The young mercenary was holding his bow up in a firing position. He nodded briefly at Talan and slung it back across his back. Talan slumped and groaned as the pain slowly faded past the borders of his Adrenalin rush.

And then, before his eyes, the dragon seemed to light up, glowing orange. Talan stared, and all around him, the soldiers watched too, fascinated. Irileth's guards looked in awe. The dragon seemed to dissolve, the scales and muscles becoming immaterial in the air, as if the Dragon was burning away, but there was no sensation of heat. Suddenly, the wind seemed to pick up and glowing tendrils snaked out of the corpse, flowing like water through the air, and coiled themselves around the young mercenary, who was standing stock still, a look of white-faced shock on his face.

And then the tendrils faded, and all that was left of the Dragon were some scales and the skeleton.

There was a heavy silence, everyone being too surprised to speak. Eventually Till broke the silence.

"What the hell was that?"

* * *

 **A/N: Short chapter there. Sorry I haven't posted in a while, as my workload increased drastically. Thankfully, I have developed Talan's story a good bit, and i am considering a rather surprising series. Opinions? Anyway, thanks for the support  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Deus Vult Chapter 5**

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, back again.**

 **So you know how I said I would be having cancer for maybe a few more months? Turns out it's not a few months but, erm, three years. Well shi - oh wait, this is rated T, isn't it? Damn, I can't even swear in my own fanfiction!  
**

 **Anyway, time to answer all the reviews I missed.**

* * *

 **Doomeater: Cheers mate! Send me a link when you have the first chapter up.**

 **Hermann Fegelein: Exactly what do you mean? The story, the irritating author's notes or the comment section?**

 **Z: Point made. There is no excuse for how I acted and I apologise for what I said. But it wasn't out of hubris, it was out of anger. Bear in mind I am trapped in my house with bugger-all to do because of cancer so my patience is a lot shorter nowadays and it snapped.  
**

 **Rc48177: Cheers.**

 **Codexrun: Not really trying to spread a religious message, I'm just trying to write something a bit different. There are so many places I could take Talan but religion seemed to be an important barrier between Talan and a world with a very active Pagan culture, so it was an obvious place to start.**

 **Guest: Can't give you a straight answer on that one. I have a couple of ideas for outcomes in the story, but it depends how things go.**

 **adwerte:**

 **Comment 1: Amusingly colourful language.**

 **Comment 2: Personally, my writing could do with a lot of improvement. My paragraph structure in particular is all over the place. But I am glad you think so.**

 **Chase:**

 **Great idea which I might implement in another story, but not this one. I've planned out the story to an extent that it would be a shame to lose the current plotline now. I'm trying to make this suspenseful and that particular idea, in my opinion, doesn't exactly help it along. But I might include it later down if I can develop Talan's story into a series.  
**

 **DeusVult995:**

 **Thanks for the recommendation. Will check it out. And thank you for the support.**

 **AyeJimmy123:**

 **DEUS VULT!**

 **haljordan123:**

 **Given that I have placed Talan at the beginning of the events of the skyrim main questline, I probably would find it difficult to give the story it's own arc. I do intend to add my own ideas to the questline to make it different and a bit more interesting.  
**

 **Zekariah C.L Schron:**

 **Comment 1: You know, I forgot totally about the funeral bit. As for battles, well the story is still in early stages and Talan has little more than a skirmish group at his command. Further down the line there will be bigger and bloodier battles.**

 **Comment 2: I will include more Teutons, but I wasn't planning to put anyone on Solstheim. Part of the basis for the story was the religious hatred in the Baltic states at the time. The Templars weren't so heavily involved, since they had relocated to their fortress in France and the Hospitaliers were still in the Mediterranean fighting Turkish forces from Rhodes and Malta.  
**

 **Now, back to Talan and the Teutonic Order. On with the story!**

* * *

Talan was moved into the lee of the tower. From his slumped position against the tower ruins, he could watch the road where most of the soldiers were gathered. The Whiterun guard were clustered around the young mercenary and were treating him with awe and, Talan noted, a little bit of fear. The mercenary himself was in a daze, shocked at the sudden change of events.

From what Talan could hear the mercenary was a "Dragonborn", the ultimate slayer of dragons. Apart from the rest, Talan's men were watching the mercenary with suspicion and fearful anger. Again Talan made a mental note of this and added it to his list of worries. He hoped desperately that his men would stay their hands until things could be sorted out.

He sighed and looked at the sky. He felt angry. Since they had come here, everything had seemed out of control, too strange and, above all, dangerous. And he wasn't stupid. He had a hunch and he needed it confirmed. Badly. Maybe he would find some peace and at last some firm footing to get his men home. The rustling of grass alerted him to someone approaching and he lowered his gaze and was surprised to see Irileth standing nearby.

"I suppose I should be congratulating you, fool that you are." she said guardedly.

Talan felt his anger flare in his stomach but kept quiet. He hadn't removed his helmet and was secretly glad that Irileth couldn't see his face.

"But that was also brave. Non of my men could have done what you did."

Talan nodded, his anger partially abated.

"And, even if no one will say it out loud, I think our mysterious mercenary couldn't have made the shot without your distraction." she continued, watching him carefully.

Talan smiled and removed his helmet.

"I suppose so."

"And your men?" Irileth asked, gesturing towards them.

Talan cast a glance over the road. His men were standing in small groups, talking furtively amongst themselves. As he watched one of them said something and Till snapped back, clearly angered or at least annoyed with the soldier.

"I don't know." Talan said finally. turning back to Irileth. "We're all highly strung and this is all a bit, well, surreal. Half the time I'm not even sure what is happening."

Brief look of pity flashed across Irileth's usually harsh features but was then replaced with her usual impassive scowl.

"We play the hand we are dealt, Talan. But you have made a friend of Whiterun so now things will be easier going. The Jarl will see to that."

She turned and headed back to where her men were still crowded around the mercenary.

"I bloody doubt it." Talan muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure how his men would react. Yes, magic appeared to be much in use here and that would only serve to strain relationships further, not necessarily with Talan, but more likely with his steadfast Christian men. He looked up at the rapidly growing clouds.

"Dear Lord, if you are listening, I pray to you that my men will keep their nerve."

There was a boom of thunder and then it started to rain.

* * *

By the time the cart arrived, Talan had slipped into an exhausted unconsciousness. In his dreams the dragon roared. It'd been that close. Talan knew it would plague his dreams for nights to come. Then suddenly, his dreams shifted and he was back in that . . . space.

A wide circle of mat grey floor, impenetrable darkness ringing the edge. Talan sprang up and reached for his sword – which wasn't there! He cast around, but there was nothing except the emptiness.

"What do you want?" Talan called out. Like his previous dream, his voice was swallowed up in the darkness. Then the same woman from his previous dream stepped out of the darkness.

"The same as before. You." she said softly. Talan narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" he asked. She smiled, warmly and kindly.

"Because you are in the right place at the right time." she said.

"And what do you want me to do?"

The smiled turned sad.

"Long ago, we, the Gods, were not so different from humans. We lived on a world not unlike your own. You could say we were omnipotent versions of humans. But then, as there always has been across countless worlds, there was a cataclysm. A darkness, far greater and more powerful than anything we had ever seen before, rose up and challenged our world." She paused. "You would call it Hell." she conceded.

"And did you win?" Talan asked, not believing a word.

"No." she answered. "We held it off, but only succeeded in driving it back, at a terrible cost. Of my entire race, only twelve of us survived."

Now there was only sadness and, to Talan's surprise, fear.

"So – what did you do?" he asked, intrigued despite himself.

"We fled to another world, seeking refuge. And that is where we found you. We spread the message of our world. The darkness is coming. And you believed."

Talan nodded. It was in the Order's library. heathen cultures, older than the present kingdoms, had believed in this or something similar to this.

"So why is this not documented?" he asked suspiciously.

"It was. Haven't you ever wondered where the old Pagan religions came from? I was known as Isis in the desert land you called Egypt. I was called Hera by the Greeks and Juno by the Romans. In the frozen North, I was known as Frigga. Across them all, I was known as the Mother of the Gods."

"And what do they call you now?" Talan asked.

The goddess' smile turned into a savage snarl.

"They call me a false idol now." she spat.

Talan stared at her, her words twisting over in his head. They had been an elder race. They had come to warn of a great evil. People believed and now they didn't. What went wrong?

"I think I understand." he said eventually. The goddess gave him a look, encouraging him to go on.

"The end times didn't come, did they? And people lost faith in you, so they cast you out."

"Yes. All of us were cast out. All but one." She laughed bitterly. Her tone turned angry. "Hades was always an acerbic little fool. He was the weakest of us, and the least respected because of it. He was jealous of us. We didn't realise it, but it was he who had woken the darkness, called the darkness, and set it on us out of spite. He is mad. He thinks he can bargain with it, bet it to spare him!"

Her words were twisted with such fury, her anger hit Talan like a physical blow, pressure flooding his skull, making him fall to his knees, clutching his head in pain.

"Stop! Stop!" he yelled, involuntarily curling up and squeezing his eyes shut, trying desperately to escape the pain. It lessened. Breathing hard, Talan opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet, the goddess was looking at him mournfully.

"I am sorry." she said, helping him to his feet. "This, you could say, is my realm. A safe place from the outside world. My presence and emotions have an effect here."

"Yeah, bloody noticed." Talan growled before he could stop himself. He took a step back. The goddess laughed.

"So bold. I really think I was right to choose you." she said, smiling again. Talan nodded imperceptibly.

"To do what?" he asked.

"Cure the world of religious unrest." she said. "There are more worlds besides Tamriel and your one. We spread our word to them too, and the same story repeated itself. This world, Tamriel, is the only world where such unrest is not so acute. You must bring people togetherand then forge on through the other worlds."

Talan stared at her, not quite believing his ears.

"But that could take years! And not everyone will listen. Did that occur to you?" he snapped. "What do you want me to do, stand on a box and preach?"

The goddess smiled, her eyes glittering with amusement.

"Diplomacy will be your ally." she began. "Bring as many people under your wing as possible. I regret that not everyone will listen and some may need to be put to the sword. And as for time, fear not. We will help you, but there will be a cost."

"Why must there be a cost?" Talan asked.

The goddess sighed.

"Hades is rather clever. He created prophecies. These were not originally meant to foretell the future, but to bind it, making the Gods powerless to intervene until it would be too late. We cannot act to prevent the coming of the worlds end, but through you, it can be stopped. Prophecies cannot bind humans in the same way as it binds gods. All a prophecy requires is for the right person to be there at the right time."

"And I'm preventing the 'right person' being there at the 'right time'." Talan finished.

"Precisely." The goddess looked at him with a kind smile on her face and shook her head. "Humans." she said. "We can know you for centuries and still you can surprise us. But now you must go. You will need to convince your men and then you must begin your task here in Skyrim."

Talan shook his head. "This is a lot to process." he managed.

"I know. But now you must go."

And with a flick of her hand, the world seemed to dissolve into darkness.

* * *

Talan opened his eyes.

He was lying in a bed. It was pretty comfortable. Above him he saw wooden rafters of a high hall. He recalled it looked like the healing temple. What was it called? Kynareth? A gentle, soothing smell of healing herbs washed over him. Talan felt relaxed, more so than he had done in ages. Then the perfect moment of awakening was broken by a harsh voice.

"No, you cannot! It is a force of evil, not good! I will not allow it!"

The voice was Till's. It sounded like he was arguing with someone. A stern female voice answered.

"Here in the temple, it is our duty to protect and heal those in need."

Talan twisted round his head to see several of his men surrounding him, backs to him, holding their weapons ready. Till had his short sword in his hand and was standing nose-to-nose with a priestess.

"Really? So why do you practice dark arts?" he shouted.

"Till! A word?" Talan snapped, propping himself up on one elbow.

The Sergeant wheeled around as if on an axel and, with a final glare at the priestess, strode to Talan's bedside.

"They want to practice their heathen magic on you. To 'heal' you."

Talan blinked. Till pronounced 'heal' like he pronounced did 'desertion'; with utter venom. Talan sighed.  
"Let them." he said quietly. Till's eyes widened.

"Captain, it's magic! The dark arts!"

Talan paused. He knew he would lose some of the respect from his men, but all the same, if the goddess's words were true, he had to get back up, and soon. He made his choice.

"I know." said Talan. "I also know I need to get back up on my feet as quickly as possible. And you saw how people react to magic here so maybe, for once, it might not be as dark an art here. I took my chances with a dragon, so I might as well take my chances with magic. Now get out of the way."

Till opened his mouth to object, but then closed it when he saw Talan's expression.

"Sir." he muttered and stepped away, scowling at the priestess. The men cautiously moved aside and the priestess approached.

"Do what you must." Talan said.

* * *

A short hour later, Talan and his men left the temple. Talan had a broad grin on his face. The men looked sour.

"I've never felt so relaxed." Talan mentioned to Till.

"Is that so?" Till muttered.

Talan cast a sideways glance at the man.

"Look, it went well. I can walk several weeks earlier than expected and if something bad were to have happened, you were there."

Till stopped and turned to Talan angrily.

"I still can't believe you did that!" he snarled. Talan's smile faded.

"Till, I haven't got time for this. We came here by accident and God knows where here even is! This is a completely different world to me. So right now, we have to stick together and figure out why it is we came here and how to get back! Understood?"

Till, white-faced, nodded.

"Good!" Talan snapped and strode off down the street, his good mood evaporated like the morning mist.

"That was a bad move." he muttered to himself as he headed back to the barracks, the men following at a slight distance.

" _Oh Gods,"_ he thought, as he turned and headed towards the plains district. _"Please let me get though this alive."_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am so sorry I've been absent for so long. It's not dead, I promise!**

 **In the time I have been off though, things have been going well. I've come up with another fanfiction idea which I will be writing alongside Deus Lo Vult but I won't start publishing it until either I have finished my current story or I've written around 30-40 chapters on the new one. I intend to make it a looooong one.**

 **New story idea; the pro-NCR Courier from Fallout New Vegas ends up in Skyrim and being the Dragonborn. Only now the Thalmor are trying to get into the Wasteland for the weapons technology and the NCR are trying to push into Skyrim and get their hands on magic. The Brotherhood of Steel is trying to shut down the link between worlds and, as the Courier has a secret allegiance to the Brotherhood, he helps them.**

 **Shout out to Doomeater for agreeing to beta-read my fallout-skyrim story. Kudos to you man!**

 **Cancer update; nearly over the worst. A few more weeks and hopefully by November-December time I'll be able to live normally again.**

 **And now the back-dated reviews.**

 **Guest : Er, okay?**

 **Krylsten : Cheers!**

 **ExiledRonin : Yeah, sorry about my absence. I was stuck in hospital for two months with no wifi so I couldn't do any uploading from my laptop. Then I had a severe case of "chemo-brain" where I couldn't even think properly let alone do anything that required even a minute level of thinking. I basically spent several months playing video games and being a couch-potato because my brain just could not work. Back now though, and hopefully I can stay this way for sometime.**

 **Deus Lo Vult! On with the story!**

* * *

Talan kept a close eye on his men in the next three days and what he observed didn't bode well. Till kept giving him black looks, and the men were wary, maybe even suspicious, of him. Talan knew he'd lost their respect.

The day after the incident at the temple, Talan went and talked to Farengar about how he and his soldiers had come to arrive in the land of Skyrim.

The mage was leaning over a strange circular table. On it there were strange pieces of glassware and other fine instruments, similar to ones Talan had seen in apothecary shops, carefully arranged and well cared for. Farengar was grinding something into a fine red powder in a small bowl built into the very surface at the centre of the table.

'There are ways to travel from one point in the world to another, though few are in existence. It would seem that you found one of them and travelled through some kind of portal, though not like any I have ever heard of. From where in Tamriel did you say you came from?'

Talan hesitated. How much could he tell Farengar? Would the mage believe him?

'Well? Spit it out. I do have other work to do.' Farengar said, still not looking up from his work.

 _The hell with it_ Talan thought.

Out loud he said 'It wasn't from anywhere in Tamriel.'

Farengar paused in the act of pouring a greenish substance into the dell in the table. Carefully he put down the vial that held the liquid and re-corked it before straightening up.

'And now, you have my interest. What makes you think that?' he asked.

'The sky has two moons. Where I come from, you can only see one in the night sky.'

The mage opened his mouth to say something but then frowned and closed it.

'Come.' he said and headed to a dresser. Opening one of the drawers he took out a large square of parchment, folded several times. This he spread out on his desk.

'This is the world map, or as near as I have managed to compile. It details all the sights of high magical influence throughout the world, but it still serves as an ordinary map. Show me if there is anything you recognise.'

Talan stared at the map. The problem with map-making in Europe was that it wasn't a precise art. Maps of local areas and counties were much more accurate than maps of whole countries, never mind the world map. Talan had seen three different maps of the world and one of them didn't look even remotely like the other two. But they had all shared one common feature, because it was common knowledge.

'Jerusalem isn't marked.' Talan said. He pointed to the very centre of the map. 'It should be marked here. The Holy City is in the centre of the world.'

Farengar gave him a strange look, as if he didn't quiet believe what he was hearing.

'So you are saying that this isn't a map of the world?'

'Yes. Maps aren't very accurate, but everyone knows Jerusalem is in the centre of the world. It has to be!'

Farengar rolled his eyes as he folded the map. Talan bit back the urge to back-hand the man.

'Well. It's still proof enough to support your claim. I'll need to read up on this. In any case, the results will be the same. The simple solution would be to find the portal you used to get here, or a similar one nearby, and use it to travel back through to your world.' the wizard said. 'For now though, you should return to your men. Good day.'

And that was that. Outside the room Talan clenched his fists at the rude dismissal. The mage had a way of talking that made him really want to punch the condescending git.

* * *

When he returned to the barracks, Talan walked in on three of his men having a close conversation.

'You damn well know magic is evil! And who knows what he's talking about with that black sorcer-'

' _Shut it! He's coming!_ '

The soldiers quickly lapsed into silence, watching suspiciously Talan. Talan glared back at them as he strode past and sought refuge in the sleeping quarters, where most didn't venture during the day. As he flopped down on the bed and began examining the cracks in the ceiling, he hoped at least the funeral for his fallen man would defuse the situation a little.

It didn't.

* * *

They'd refused to have him buried in the Nord's hall of the dead and Talan had warned the priests to stay away from the funeral, much to their chagrin. It was bright and early when they buried the fallen swordsman. The sun had barely risen and the dew still clung to the grass outside the walls of Whiterun. They wrapped what was left of the man in a white woollen shroud and buried him in the ground, in a secluded spot away from the main road and out of sight of the walls. They piled rocks over him in a small cairn and drove his sword into the ground to mark where the grave lay. The few words Talan spoke over the grave and the prayer they chanted didn't help much either. Talan felt many eyes on the back of his head as they marched back to Whiterun.

There was tension amongst the Order, and Whiterun guard seemed to sense it, making them uneasy too. Degree by degree, the old atmosphere of tension returned to Whiterun.

* * *

Talan was sitting outside the barracks, sharpening his sword, more out of habit than need. He was meticulous in the care for his blade, using first a rough whetstone for the deeper notches then a smoother stone for removing the faint scratches before rubbing it down with a well oiled cloth. But today it was more through a desire to do something, anything, and not feel useless. Talan felt powerless.

Here he was, the commander of a group of religious soldiers who found themselves in a land that should by rights be their enemy, yet the people were looking out for them, or at least leaving them alone.

And nothing made sense.

The strange people and creatures of this world. Oh the Nords were alright and the ones called Imperials were normal too, but Talan was unsettled, disturbed even, by the elves. Admittedly he was slowly getting used to Irileth but the biggest shock had been the Khajiits or "Cat-people" as his men called them behind their backs. Talan had been exiting the barracks when a group of them passed through the gates of Whiterun and he almost had a heart-attack.

Talan sighed and lowered his sword. The blade was honed to a razors edge. A quick wipe with the oiled cloth removed the shine on the metal, making the blade dull so it wouldn't catch the light. He looked up at approaching footsteps. It was Till.

The archer dropped down unceremoniously on the ground next to Talan and leaned back against the wall.

'Till.' Talan said curtly, in greeting.

'Talan.' the bowman replied shortly.

They both sat and stared straight ahead, not looking at one another. Eventually Till broke the silence.

'How much longer?' he asked, still not moving his head.

Talan sighed.

'Until that bloody wizard gets back to me with an answer of how to get home.'

Till snorted.

'And how long's that been? Days?' the archer muttered.

'I went to him yesterday but apparently he has other "important work to do". It's not as if he couldn't do what needs to be done in an afternoon and let us go home.' Talan growled.

'Maybe if you'd put your trust in the Church we'd be home by now.' Till chided.

Talan turned and glared at the Sergeant.

'Exactly how would that help? Do you see any evidence of the Church? No. I just see mages and demons and hell-spawn all over the place! Two moons in the sky! Dragons flying over mountains! To be honest, if you haven't caught onto the idea that this isn't our world, you really are just plain stupid!'

The bowman took that in silence. Talan leaned back.

'What other world is there besides the one God created?' Till bit back.

'This one, idiot!' Talan snapped. 'Do I have to run back through that list again? _We-are-not-on-our-own-world-any-more_!'

Till shook his head in disbelief, but stayed silent. He stared at his leather boots.

'What the hell is going on Talan?'

Talan's anger subsided. The Sergeant sounded so lost and forlorn, it was worrying. Talan realised that underneath the tough Baltic soldier's icy manner was fear. A deep fear of what neither of them could understand.

'I wish I knew that. I really do.' Talan answered. He sighed again. He was doing that a lot nowadays.

'Oh bugger it. Listen Till, I have to tell you something.'

The Sergeant turned, a curious look, mixed with suspicion, on his face. Talan ignored it.

'For the past few days I've been having dreams. There's this . . . woman who talks to me. She claims to be a goddess.'

Till's silence was deafening. Talan pressed on.

'She told me that a doom is coming. For us all. It's already claimed her world and it's coming for ours next and even this one.'

'It's just a dream Talan.' Till said dismissively.

'Maybe so, but remember Father Arnaud?' Talan said.

They both remembered.

Long ago, when Talan and Till had first joined the Order, there had been an old French priest accompanying the army. Talan and Till hadn't known each other back then, but everyone in camp knew Father Arnaud, the mad French priest. One night, they'd been camped between the Nioman river near Hrodna and the priest had awoken and screamed awake half the camp that the Lithuanian heathens were attempting a sneak attack. The Großkommuter at the time had dismissed the old man but then one of the scouts had rushed in and said that he'd spotted a host of soldiers quietly leaving the nearby forest. The batle had been close, but the Lithuanians had expected to catch them asleep and instead had been met at the gates to the camp by a spear wall and archer. They'd routed quickly, but the Großskommuter had decided it would be safest to retreat back across the river and hold that position.

Then he had Father Arnaud burned at the stake for witchcraft, even though his foretelling of the future had saved the knights.

'Oh bugger this.' Talan muttered and stood up. 'I'll go see if there's anything to kill on the vicinity. You muster the men. I've had enough of sitting around and waiting for that bloody mage to come to me with an answer. And I really want to hit something.'

For the first time in days, Till grinned.

'Finally something I understand.' he said happily and leaped to his feet.

* * *

'You'd like to what?' Jarl Balgruuf asked, an eyebrow raised. They were both standing in the map room. The Jarl was bent over a huge map of Skyrim. Flags, some blue, some red were placed on the huge sheet of parchment. Talan noted that the red flags were on the left hand side of the map while the blue flags were on the right. A golden flag stood where Whiterun was. Avenicci, the Jarl's steward, was hovering nearby, watching Talan with a self-important frown.

'Find something to kill.' Talan said. 'Just anything, so long as we're not sitting around.'

Balgruuf ran a hand through his beard.

'My men are bored and are getting restless.' Talan continued. 'I'm not sure how long till they start turning over the tables but they need something to take their minds off everything that's happened and a good fight might see to that.'

'Well . . . I suppose you could make yourself useful to the city.' Balgruuf said slowly. 'Very well. Commander Caius is having some trouble with a group of bandits. Apparently they've taken over Fort Greymoor along the western road a few days ago.' he said, tapping a fortress on the map. 'They'll need to be cleared from there to ensure safer travel to Rorikstead but we've not had the men to spare to send after them.' he said, giving Talan a pointed look as if he was to blame.

He probably was, considering how much trouble he and his men had caused.

'Do you think you can handle it?' the Jarl asked. Talan grinned.

'We've been fighting a border war for years. We know what we're doing.' he said confidently. He saluted, turned and swiftly marched down the stone steps into the great hall.

'I hope you do.' the Jarl said quietly to himself as the sounds of the Teuton's clattering armour and footsteps faded into the distance followed by the sound of the great hall doors slamming shut.

'I really hope you do.' the Jarl repeated.

* * *

Significantly cheered, Talan and his force marched in strict formation from Whiterun. The dragon had been an urgent call and there had been no time to form up, where as a few bandits could wait a little longer. Looking back, Talan observed his units.

First came the Sword Brethren, led by Talan. They held their swords casually pointed down, but clasped their shields to their chests, combat ready. Talan was doing the same.

Till and his Prussian archers brought up the rear. They walked with a swagger, not having received much marching discipline but they kept to their lines. They held their bows ready, an arrow knocked but not drawn.

'Let's kick some arse lads!' Talan yelled to a cheer. Finally things seemed to be looking up.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey, sorry it's been a while. Things just sort of happened then snowballed. Come up with a heap of story ideas though, too many to write all at once. I'll try and focus a little more on this one though.**

 **Thanks for all the support!**

 **You will definitely like this chapter. Let's say I was listening to some of Jeff Van Dykes awesome music he made for Total war while writing ...**

 **Jakkalz: There will most definitely be some more character development when the time comes.**

 **Charge!**

* * *

Talan had ordered Till to form the archers into four rows and spread out. The Sword Brethren took up position behind them. They stood in the long grass before the fort, watching the frantic movements of its bandit defenders.

The fort was in a sorry state. It was poorly defended and under manned. There was no real gate except whatever the defenders could find to barricade the entrance with and the archers were few and far between.

'So disorganised.' Talan muttered, before clearing his throat and raising his voice. 'Do you reckon we should let them get organised? I think they need it.' he said, to the general laughter.

This would be a small battle, barely even a skirmish, but even so the men were on edge and it was good to give them something to laugh about.

'Bugger it.' Talan muttered, smiling without humour, and striding forward. 'All right lads! Don't give them time to think! Till! Lead the archers forward! Pick off anyone stupid enough to be out in the open!'

'Aye!' the Sergeant barked enthusiastically, turning to his unit. 'Get moving you sons of mothers!'

'Swordsmen! Hold here! Advance on my command!' Talan called.

As the archers started forward, Talan watched as the already frantic defenders ran for cover.

The Prussian archers halted, drew and raised their bows. There was a threatening hum of bow strings snapping back into place and a hail of arrows sailed upwards and over the walls. Among the desultory clatter of arrows on stone, there were a few cut-off screams from inside the fort as a few arrows hit something much softer.

One or two forlorn shots fired back from the fort but they fell painfully short of the more experienced and better equipped Prussian archers.

'Sword Brethren! Forward-march!'

There was an answering roar from the eager swordsmen as they drew their swords and started towards the gates.

'Faster!' Talan yelled, breaking into a run. Nearby, the Prussian bowmen sent another volley of arrows over the walls.

Talan, with the Sword Brethren close on his heels, leapt over the meagre barricade into the courtyard and was met by a wave of bandits coming the other way. He did the only thing he could. He raised his shield and charged like a bull, raising his sword and bellowing a war cry.

The Sword Brethren followed suit. As both sides met, the Order used their shields to smash into the bandits, pushing them back before lunging forward with their swords.

The bandits were disorganised to say the least and they had a mish-mash of different weapons.

A thickset man with a war hammer swung desperately at Talan. Deftly, almost lazily, Talan let the blow glance off his shield before bringing his sword round and dragging it across the man's stomach, spilling his guts across the ground. The bandit was spun round by the violent motion and Talan used the opportunity to drive his sword into the bandit's back, shoving the man hard to the ground. Talan stepped over him as the dying bandit tried desperately, but futilely, to crawl away and drove his sword into the nape of the man's neck, finally killing him.

Out of nowhere another bandit suddenly loomed, trying to take advantage of Talan's momentary distraction, but got Talan's steel blade shoved in his face instead. The bandit dropped to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground, and was about to fall forward dead when Talan reversed the motion of his hand and brought his sword round in an upswing, cutting the man's head in two from the chin upwards. Blood flew high in the air.

As the mutilated body fell backwards, Talan, blood splattered across his helm and dripping down his sword, leapt forward and brought his arm round in an overarm swing and buried the steel blade deep into a third bandit's shoulder, shoving him down to the ground hard, before Talan withdrew it and kicked the lifeless body aside. Talan's onslaught was clearing a small circle around him.

Suddenly there was a burst of fire to his left that made Talan jump back in surprise.

One of the bandits stood over a fallen Sword Brethren, flames held in his hands. As Talan watched, the flames engulfed the fallen Sword Brethren, who screamed and flailed around, fruitlessly trying to beat out the flames that enveloped him. The acrid stench of burned human flesh assaulted Talan's nostrils.

 _Novgord_.

The flashback was brief. With a roar Talan surged forward but the mage was suddenly surrounded by Sword Brethren, who tackled the bandit and started brutally beating him with their fists, not having the room to use their swords.

As quickly as they arrived, they separated and charged back into battle, blood and gore on their gauntlets. Talan saw that the bandit had been, and this was the only way to describe him, pulped. The skull and body was caved in. It was barely even recognisable as human. Talan felt oddly proud at the display of violence.

The few remaining bandits fell back. Talan and his men pressed forward, now joined by Till's bowmen who had sneaked in amongst the confusion of battle and were now using their long knives with practised hand.

The last few bandits, outnumbered and outmatched, dropped their weapons. Some fell to their knees, pleading for their lives. Some tried to make a break for it. Most wet themselves. The Order rolled over them all, cutting them apart.

Talan withdrew his sword from a corpse and wiped it on the fallen bandit's clothing. He sheathed the blade and looked around. He nodded in satisfaction as he pulled out a cloth, took off his helmet and wiped his forehead.

'Not a bad result, lads!' he said, to all round cheers as the victors celebrated. Some of the more enthusiastic soldiers waved their swords in the air. There had only been around a dozen bandits in comparison to Talan's forty infantry. Casualties on his side had been minimal; four dead, two wounded.

Talan had to yell to make himself heard over the cheers. 'Alright, you shower! I want archers on the walls keeping lookout! Two small patrols and a guard on the gate! You, you and you.' Talan said, pointing out two Sword Brethren and a Prussian archer. 'With me into the keep. And keep your weapons ready, there might be one or two bandits still in there. The rest of you clean up this mess!'

'Captain!'

Talan turned to the source of the shout. Till was standing on the wall of the fort, staring out over the plain. His voice was frantic. Frowning, Talan climbed the stone steps to the wall, taking them two at a time and regarded the scene before him.

Closing in on the keep was another force. Flying above them was a banner bearing the red horseman of Lithuania. And this time the Order was outnumbered.

* * *

Something broke inside Talan. Maybe it was the constant warfare he'd been involved with in Lithuania. It was possible for a solider to go mad that way. Maybe it was the sudden strangeness of everything that had happened in the last few days. Maybe he had just lost the plot completely. Or maybe this was just another strange dream. But all Talan felt like doing, right now, was killing.

* * *

Till watched his commanding officer nervously. Talan's eyes had lit up when he'd seen the approaching force. He turned when he saw the Sergeant's gaze on him and smiled. Till stepped back uneasily. It was almost manic.

'We've got a fort. As long as we can bottleneck them, we've won.' Talan said confidently.

Till had many misgivings about Talan, especially in the last few day. He remained loyal because, well, because Talan was one of the best damn commanders he'd ever served under. But right now he was worried about his superior's mental state.

'Talan, You've lost your mind! There's near three hundred of them!' Till said incredulously. Talan only chuckled.

Aware that he was being watched by his men Talan carefully, and dramatically, put on his expressionless horned helmet before turning to address them.

'Let's go put the boot in the heathens!' he roared cheerfully, to which the other soldiers roared their approval, although it sounded a little hollow. But Till still marvelled at Talan's charisma. He had a way of talking that seemed to give hope to all who listened. Till got the impression that Talan was grinning under his helm.

'Sword Brethren, shield wall by the gate! Archers, hold the walls!'

Talan gave Till a curt nod and rejoined the throng of soldiers lining up in the courtyard, shouldering his way to the front by the gate.

He could see the Lithuanians were getting closer. They were spread in a wide, loose formation, which would make it difficult for Talan's archers, but they would have to close up when they reached the bottleneck in the keep.

'Hold!' Talan roared, drawing his sword and steeling into a defensive crouch, shield raised. He eyed the advancing Lithuania's.

Samogitian axemen walked in front, at least a hundred of them. Walking behind them were Baltic archers, maybe two units of them. Call it a further two hundred men. This was a small skirmishing force. But it was still too big for Talan and his men.

'Brace yourselves, it's those bloody axemen.' he warned, raising his voice. Even from here, he could hear the deep, menacing thundering of their footsteps and the clank and rattle of their chainmail.

'Archers knock!' he heard Till shout.

Talan frowned.

'Listen!' he said suddenly. They listened. Above the sound of marching boots game the steady drumbeat of hooves. It was coming from behind a rise to the west.

'They've got cavalry back-up!' a soldier whispered, his face turning white. Talan looked up at the approaching axemen, saw them falter. Then they broke into a run, heading away from the hoof beats.

'No, we do.' Talan said, grinning like a mad man.

Then all hell broke loose as a contingent of Ritterbruder crested the rise in full gallop.

* * *

A horn rang out and the knights lowered their lances, uttering a war cry. They caught up with the fleeing Lithuanians and smashed into the back of them, spearing men with their lances or crushing them under their hooves.

'Get them!' Talan yelled in excitement and he and the Sword Brethren charged, sprinting out the fort gate and onto the battlefield.

They heard the strum of bow strings and arrows whistled over head as the Prussian bowmen let loose a volley of arrows.

Talan closed the distance and caught the axemen coming and going. Caught between the two forces, the Lithuanians began desperately fighting. But every time they tried to break through the smaller force of infantrymen, they were speared by the cavalry. Every time they tried to fend off the Ritterbruder, they were stabbed in the back. Eventually, they were cut down.

As the last were trapped in circle that was getting smaller and smaller by the minute, one of the Ritterbruder, presumably the commander rode up to Talan, his sword bloody.

'Greetings, brother.' he said in heavily accented voice. He dismounted and sheathed his sword before removing his helmet.

'Cathbar?' Talan said incredulously, staring at his comrade in arms, before hauling off his own helmet.

'Talan?' the knight said, taken aback.

'You English bastard! I thought you'd be dead!' Talan said, throwing an arm around the surprised knights shoulder.

'So did I. When you didn't report back to Thron, we were sent out to investigate.' the knight said, clapping Talan on the shoulder. Talan stepped back.

'Let me guess,' Talan said, holding up a hand to stop him. 'You found carved pillars with a blue circle in the middle, right?'

'How did you know?' Cathbar said, raising an eyebrow.

'Happened to us too. And presumably the Lithuanians. From what I've found out its some kind of magic.'

Nearby, the last of the axemen were put to the sword. Amidst the back drop of screams and clash of steel, the two knights had a friendly chat.

At the start of the battle the Order had gone for the heavier troops, the axemen, leaving the bowmen free to run. They had fled in the direction of Whiterun. Cathbar nodded at them as an indication.

'I think we should talk later. First we ought to deal with them.' he said.

'Lets.' Talan said. 'Got a horse?'

Cathbar looked back at the Ritterbruder as they reassembled.

'Looks like we lost a man.' he sighed. 'It happens. You can have his mount. But what about your men?'

Talan grinned.

'You remember Till? He's over by the fort. He'll hold the place until we get back. Lets get them!'

* * *

'My lord, there's a small force approaching from the west!'

Jarl Baalgruf looked up as the guardsman ran panting into the map room, where Baalgruf was leaning over a table, studying the map of Skyrim.

'Is it the Teutonic Order?' he asked.

The man came to a stop, breathing hard.

'No, a different one. They fly the banner of a red horseman.'

'Show me.' Baalgruf ordered.

He followed the guard out the room and down the great hall, his personal guards automatically falling in behind him. Irileth took up her position next to him. He followed the guardsman out into the city and down to the walls in the plains district. Not totally to his surprise, he saw many of the citizens had gathered on the walls, including many of the guardsmen.

'Make way for the Jarl!' Irileth called, as the guards cleared a path for the Jarl. The crowd parted to let them through. Standing on the wall, he looked down on the scene before him.

At least two hundred men were fleeing across the plains, obviously running from something. True to his word, the guardsman had not lied when he said they held the banner of a red horseman.

'What would cause two hundred men to flee in panic.' he murmured worriedly to himself.

'My lord, look!' Irileth called, pointing.

A unit of cavalry had appeared further down the road, maybe less than one hundred. They were all dressed and armoured like Talan and they were moving at full gallop.

'What the-' Baalgruf breathed.

Below them, in full view of the city, the Order charged after the two hundred Lithuanians. There was a glint as the sun caught the light of eighty swords being drawn from eighty sheaths. A war horn rang out as the heavy cavalry caught up with the fleeing soldiers and they rode into the back of them with a terrifying bellow.

'No quarter!' Baalgruf heard one of the horsemen yell.

* * *

They were merciless. They rode down any who got in their path and cut down any man in passing. Even as some begged for mercy, they were hacked down. Some raised their bows to fire but their arrows clattered harmlessly off of shields and heavy armour. Those few who had tried to mount a resistance were broken. The Lithuanians scattered, fleeing in all directions but they were swept up by the Order.

* * *

It was all over in a few minutes, the last man having his head cut from his body as he tried to run. Baalgruf was staring hard at the battlefield. The merciless brutality was shocking. Baalgruf had fought in wars and seen atrocities, but this was on the same par as fanatics. He needed to have a serious word with Captain Gwynek.

'Who are these men?' he muttered to himself as he turned and walked back to Dragonsreach.


End file.
